


Unspeakable

by Tokyo_the_Glaive



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Idiots in Love, M/M, Soft Kylux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:23:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7417690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokyo_the_Glaive/pseuds/Tokyo_the_Glaive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things they can't say to one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspeakable

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing a lot of angst lately, so I needed something fluffy to even things out. Enjoy!

High Command within the First Order is split in two. The division is unequal in number but certainly equivalent in power. On the one hand is General Hux, the epitome of human achievement and understanding. He’s the zealot and the innovator, the impetus for change. It is under his banner that his troops ride, and of those there are multitudes. The troopers may be conditioned, but the officers? They respect him something far deeper.

On the other hand is Lord Ren. His knights represent his only followers, but what they lack in numbers they make up for in sheer destructive capacity. Their devotion is to the Force, not to Ren, but lately, as Ren amasses more and more power, the two things seem to be one and the same.

General Hux and Lord Ren. These are the two commanders of the First Order. Never mind Snoke—most of the organization doesn’t know he exists. Never mind the admiralty, or the officers, or even the other knights. There are two authorities, absolute and at times irreconcilable with one another.

There are times, however, that they slot into place just right. These are times that no officer, no trooper, and certainly no knight will ever learn of.

Times like this, they are alone. General Hux is Bren. Lord Ren is Kylo—or, in the safety of their minds, that name which cannot be uttered, more an idea than an entity now.

They are alone, and together.

* * *

Bren sits at his desk, frowning as he reads something on his datapad. Kylo could find out what it is easily enough, but he doesn’t care. Bren sits at his desk, and Kylo sits at his feet, leaning against his legs. Bren’s fingers wind through his hair, combing through the thick waves of it. Kylo’s eyes shut some time ago. He breathes in the smell of polished leather (Bren’s boots) and feels Bren’s trousers on his cheek. Bren’s greatcoat rests across Kylo’s shoulders, pooling behind him on the floor. The wrinkles will need the cleaners, but that’s not a problem for this moment.

In this moment, the only things that exists are Bren—his hands in Kylo’s hair, his leg against Kylo’s cheek—and Kylo, his hair in Bren’s hands, his head against Bren’s legs.

Kylo’s mind is full of static, a great blank. Bren’s greatcoat hardly fits across his shoulders, but he’s shrunk into it as best as he can, eager to be encompassed by it. It’s a sign of—trust, Kylo supposes. Bren’s given him the rank that he wears as a suit of armor throughout the day.

In exchange, Kylo’s lightsaber sits on Bren’s desk, just by his right hand. Kylo showed him how to ignite it, once. Bren’s never done so, though he’s had ample opportunity. Trust.

It’s taken them a long time to get to this point.

After what might have been hours but what is probably mere minutes, Bren sets his datapad aside. He rubs his eyes with one hand; he told Kylo once that the screens give him headaches when he looks at them for too long. He’d have thought he’d be inured to eye strain by now, but he isn’t.

“Come on,” Bren says. His voice is rough. They haven’t spoken since Kylo arrived—since before that, actually. When Kylo—still Lord Ren, technically—entered Bren’s rooms—to the outside, General Hux’s quarters—they hadn’t spoken. They rarely do, times like this.

Kylo does not move. Bren stops stroking his hair; that gets his attention. Kylo stands when Bren motions for him to, and they travel the short distance to the (oversize and utterly non-regulation) bed. Bren flops down on it. Kylo, limbs slightly sore from the floor, stretches first. He uses the Force to remove the greatcoat from his shoulders, sending it off to the small closet to hang with two other identical coats.

“I got you a chair,” Bren says, staring openly at Kylo. It might have been nonsensical out of context, and to Kylo it is momentarily abstruse, but then he catches sight of the plush chair in the corner of the room.

“Too far away,” Kylo says. He does not, as Bren did, fall onto the bed, legs hanging off. Instead, he removes his own boots and crawls up, curling his legs so that nothing hangs off of the edge. He nuzzle’s Bren’s cheek.

Bren rolls from his back to his side so that he faces Kylo entirely. Giving Bren ample time to back away—Bren rarely does in times like these, but sometimes neither of them can fully slip from what they are outside these walls, cannot grasp the notion of closeness or familiarity or, worse, what sits between them, that unspeakable thing—he reaches out, drawing him in. Bren doesn’t resist as he’s pulled into Kylo’s chest, or as Kylo breathes in his hair, then the crook of his neck.

No, Bren does something that never fails to surprise Kylo: he reciprocates, wrapping one arm around Kylo’s torso, pulling him in tighter.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bren asks, speaking to Kylo’s forehead.

“About what?”

“The chair.”

Kylo pulls himself up the scant few centimeters it takes to stare Bren in the eyes. There are many answers—he didn’t want to seem ungrateful (he isn’t; the chair is fantastically comfortable and he enjoys sitting in it); he didn’t want to bother Bren (it’s his problem, his need for proximity); he doesn’t mind sitting on the floor if it means they can be close.

In lieu of saying anything at all, Kylo shrugs as best as he can while laying on his side. Bren searches his faces for an answer, and when he fails to find one, he looks down, tracing Kylo’s neck and chest with his eyes.

“You should be comfortable,” Bren says. He winces, briefly making an expression that concerns Kylo, then amends, “I want you to be comfortable.”

“I like sitting with you,” Kylo says. He can tell that the matter has Bren disturbed. He doesn’t know why it’s just coming out now—maybe because the chair’s been sitting there for a few days, unused each evening as Bren finishes his paperwork—but he wants Bren to know that he hasn’t done anything wrong. He hasn’t jeopardized—this. Whatever this is.

(They both know, but there are things that can’t be labelled, and other things that shouldn’t be labelled. This is one of those things.)

“I like when you sit with me,” Bren says.

“Good,” Kylo says. Bren’s pulled away from him just a little to talk, and Kylo pulls him back in. “Do you need help getting out of your boots?”

Bren leans into Kylo’s chest. Kylo takes that as a _yes_ and makes to get up.

Pressure on his side prevents him from moving. Bren looks at him like he’s someone precious, like he’s someone he wants to hold close. Judging on his current hold on Kylo’s body, the expression testifies to his feelings.

“All right,” Kylo says. He makes no further motion to get up. Bren snuggles back into him.

In a few minutes time, Bren will have to get up and take off his boots to sleep, as well as the rest of his garments. Kylo’s still fully clothed; that will have to be taken care of, too.

For the moment, they rest in each other’s arms, caught up in each other.

* * *

The next day, a sofa, made of the same material and in the same style as the chair, appears in Bren’s room, together with two side tables that hadn’t been there before. When Lord Ren arrives, eager to be Kylo once more in the room that sometimes feels like the only solid ground in the universe, Bren’s already there, working on his datapad. Kylo wastes no time coming to his side, sitting beside him and resting his entire body against Bren, breathing him in. He rests his lightsaber on the table closest to Bren, reaching across him as he does. Bren catches his hand as he pulls it back, running his fingers across Kylo’s wrists, covered as they still are by his sleeves.

“Welcome back,” Bren murmurs.

Kylo pulls Bren’s hand in toward him and kisses it, leaning in as Bren’s fingers go to lace themselves in Kylo’s hair, massaging and stroking.

Nothing seems appropriate to say, though he considers several options. _I missed you, too_ wars with _I’m glad to see you_ and _You smell so nice_. There are others, unspeakable ones: _Marry me_ and _Never leave me_ and _I love you_.

Kylo opts to say nothing at all. Instead, he closes his eyes and focuses on pushing all that he feels, as gently as he can, into Bren’s conscious.

Beside him, Bren momentarily goes still, then he resumes petting.

“I know,” he says. “I know.”


End file.
